


The Art of Murder

by Hichiisai



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, pre TGG
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hichiisai/pseuds/Hichiisai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago Evelyn and three others were rescued from a serial killer with a penchant for art by none other than Sherlock Holmes. Now the killer appears to be back and he's hunting his old prey. Can Evelyn escape his murderous designs with the help of the great detective again, or will the killer complete his macabre art show?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks firstly to the absolutely lovely Winterash for all of the help plotting and planning. Secondly I hope to update every other week, though I can't make any guarantees. Also not yet britpicked/beta'd so any inconsistencies or errors are mine.

Day 1: Eve

It was only a matter of time, she knew that now. The news hadn’t shown any pictures yet, but she recognized the MO from the description. And if the first victim was anything to go by, then the killer was returning to his escaped victims.

 _Two more and then it will be my turn,_ she thought as her stomach clenched. Tears blurred her vision even as she drew a deep breath. _He was supposed to be dead._

That made her laugh, a harsh noise that echoed in the empty room. At sixteen, she was normally beyond sounding so petulant, even in her own head.

_I may not be a genius, but I know what comes next. So I need a plan-_

Her thoughts were cut off as the door flew open and two men strode in. She immediately recognized the dark haired man as one Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, which meant the second was likely Dr. Watson.

“Evelyn Young?”

“Eve, please. I assume you are already on the case Mr. Holmes. And if you are here then the next victim is already missing, correct?”

“I believe so but given the incompetence of Scotland Yard’s finest I don’t have confirmation of that fact yet.”

“What do you need?”

“I need to know everything you saw and heard while captive three years ago.”

“After three years my memories are inaccurate, but I recorded the events in a journal.”

“Lovely. Where is it?”

“My therapist has it at his office. It was confiscated by my caretakers and the only way to have it returned is for the therapist to release it.”

“Name?”

“Dr. Peter Tillman.”

“Address?”

“Unknown. He comes here for the sessions.”

“Description?”

“Of the notebook or the doctor?”

“Notebook.” The ‘of course’ is unspoken and Eve can’t help but roll her eyes in response.

“Black college ruled spiral notebook with no markings on the outside. Nearly pristine cover condition. However there are multiple journals like that in my file, so you’ll need to look for the one that starts out with a narrative.”

“Very well. Let’s go John.” The detective was already on his phone looking up the address as he swept out of the room. Meanwhile Dr. Watson was staring at her in confusion.

“I was kidnapped three years ago along with seven others, four of whom were murdered before the police found where we were being held. The M.O. of the latest murder in the papers matches that of the killer from three years ago, even though he supposedly died during the rescue,” Eve explained. “Oh and do let Mr. Holmes know that if he is going to steal my notebooks from my therapist, it would be nice if he could just take all of them and return them to me when he’s finished.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem,” the doctor managed to get out before a loud ‘John’ drew him down the stairs.

Eve smiled briefly before her thoughts returned to the matter at hand. She had less than three weeks to live unless she could evade the killer long enough for Sherlock Holmes to find him again.

 

***

Day 1: Sherlock

Sherlock found the therapist’s building easily enough and merely waited until the man left for the day. With John standing guard he picked the locks to the back door, and then to the man’s office. It took less than a minute to find his patient files, but the journals were not there.

“Where would you keep them?” Sherlock asked aloud as his eyes swept the office. The desk is plain and the drawers are not nearly deep enough to hold multiple journals. Then he noticed a closet. “Ah, the obvious choice.”

Another few minutes of hunting and he had the box full of journals. Given how far towards the back they were, he was fairly sure no one would notice if the box went missing, but to be safe he took the journals out before replacing the box.

“Did you get them?” John asked as he walked out.

“Of course I did John. I wouldn’t be out here if I hadn’t.”

“Right, sorry. Stupid question,” John muttered as Sherlock hailed a cab to Baker Street.

Once back at the flat Sherlock wasted no time flipping through the black journals until he found the correct one. He then dropped onto the couch and began reading; barely taking note of the tea John brought him.

The journal started with the girl describing the last thing she remembered before the kidnapping and then moved on to the first time she woke up in the warehouse. It was the next paragraph that drew his interest though.

_The next time I awoke, I found that I could move once more. My mouth was dry and my head felt muddled but otherwise I was unharmed. Beneath me was a red carpet that initially reminded me of the tulips that grew in our garden. It was fairly thick and covered the entire floor of where I was being kept. The only other thing in the cage with me was a bucket, which I presumed was for waste given the lack of amenities. As I looked around a bit more I saw seven other cages; two to my right, two to my left, and three behind me, effectively making a U shape with mine directly in the middle. I say behind because whenever our captor entered, he always did so from the direction where no cages sat._

Sherlock paused and grabbed the crime scene photos from the Yard’s file. As he did, he called up his own memories of the case. It had been interesting because there had been no body. Each time the killer had sent a photograph to the police and newspapers, but he had made sure the victims were unrecognizable, and left no evidence for them to follow. This included using artificial lighting and controlling the angle of the photo to show only the cage and none of its surroundings.

It took him a moment before he had the picture he needed.

 _As I thought, the pillars and chain are definitely in her cage. Either she forgot they were there or they were added after_ , he thought, wondering if it was significant or just meant the killer had needed extra time to procure the items. He also remembered indentations on the carpet indicating something heavy had sat towards the back of the cage for some time before being moved out of it. Setting those thoughts aside he turned back to the journal.

She continued on, describing the conditions they were kept in as well as her mental state and any other information she could think of. _Extraneous detail, though I suppose it is better than the babbling of the other victims_ , Sherlock thought with a huff.

“Something wrong?” John asked with a curious look.

“Nothing at all, just wondering why no one ever bothers to observe anything useful.”

“Sherlock, she couldn’t be more than fifteen-“

“Sixteen John.”

“Fine, sixteen. But that means she was only thirteen at the most when that notebook was written. You can’t tell me you knew everything at thirteen.”

“I knew enough,” he retorted. “And she would know more if she hadn’t gotten so emotional. She didn’t pay attention to anything for the first few days.”

“Sherlock, she was thirteen. She had been kidnapped, which is traumatizing enough, but she was also there when four other people were killed knowing that she might be next. It’s amazing she even was able to write that journal at all.” John’s tone said very clearly that Sherlock was being stupid. Sherlock just huffed again and went back to reading, only skimming until he came upon her description of the murderer.

_Our captor was tall, about the same height as my father so presumably around 5”8. He was very sturdily built with tanned skin though I was never sure of his eye color. The few times I was close enough to see, I was too busy trying to get away from him. His clothing was functional but good quality; always denim trousers with a cotton button up that ranged in color. There were wrinkles on his face and if I had to guess I would say he was at least in his late 30’s. He wore his dark hair military short and had no facial hair any of the times I saw him, nor did he have any glasses or other accessories or scars. I got the impression that he was quite strong, and it quickly became obvious he had no problems with hurting and killing people either._

“Perhaps not as dull as I thought,” he muttered.

“What is, Sherlock?”

“The girl. After the initial shock, she attempts to analyze her captor.”

“Is she any good at it?”

“She misses much of the important details, but as you said, she was thirteen, so perhaps she isn’t as stupid as most.”

Sherlock continued to read as the girl described the night of the first murder. Once again he notices her attempts to note details not only trying to gauge the time it took for the first woman to die, but also the method used given what she could hear. And while she notes her emotional state, she is concise about it.

The next entry peaks his interest as the girl wakes up to find the first podium in her cage. _So the podiums are a way of displaying his trophies in the final piece. He also manages to get them in the cage without alerting her. Given her stressed state, he likely drugged her food rather than risk her waking._

He kept reading as the second podium appeared, then a chair the girl described as a heavy throne. Finally he read through the last two murders, as well as the rescue. Abruptly the narrative ends and Sherlock frowned.

“Where is the rest?”

“Rest of what?” John looked up from the files he had been reading.

“Rest of her narrative. She writes about the police arriving and hearing the gun shot but no mention of going to the police station or going home. If she thought enough to write what happened before the event, why isn’t there a mention of what happened afterwards?”

“She did say the notebook was confiscated. Maybe she finished it in one of the others,” John suggested.

Sherlock frowned, but walked back over to the stack of notebooks and started flipping through them. John watched with amusement as he mumbled to himself what each was about.

“Research.”

“Theories.”

“Biology.”

“More research.”

Each one was tossed aside once Sherlock had seen enough to judge its value. Only two got set quietly to the side in the end.

“Sherlock?”

“Three years ago she realized that they might not have caught the killer,” Sherlock said quietly.

“What? How?”

“Deduction.”

“A thirteen year old deduced something you missed?”

“Hardly my fault John. I was not allowed to speak to her after the case and the other women were hysterical. They didn’t mention any of the clues that the girl noticed.”

“Evelyn, Sherlock. She has a name.”

“Sentiment, John. It won’t help solve the case.”

“No but she might. Especially if she caught what you missed.”

“I need to speak with her again. Her evidence is tenuous at best, and even she notes that there are other causes for the irregularities she saw.”

“But?”

“But the killer told them exactly how he was going to kill them and judging by the pictures, the new one is sticking to the plan. The only people who know what happened and what the killer told the women were the victims themselves, the police, and any family members or therapists they told.”

“That’s a very small list that would be able to replicate the murders.”

“Exactly. There are only two of the victims unaccounted for. Plus the families and therapists would only know what was said to one, at least according to the girl’s journal.”

“Why?”

“The killer only told the person how they would die, and the-” John glared and Sherlock sighed. “-and Evelyn noted that she couldn’t hear when he told others, nor did she think they could hear when he spoke to her. Each victim also went to a different therapist.”

“So the only people who would know everything would be the killer and the police.”

“Precisely. The only other explanation would be that someone deliberately retrieved the information, but the box Evelyn’s journals were kept in was dusty and looked untouched, so it is unlikely.”

John was about to ask something else when Sherlock’s phone buzzed. He quickly checked it and then looked at John.

“The second woman is officially missing.”

**Author's Note:**

> So not my first fic, but it is my first Sherlock fic. The POV will bounce around following Sherlock, John, and Eve as the story progresses. I'd love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
